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purging of her pain, came peace; not the numbing, false peace of the North Wind’s icy armor, but the true peace Tarma had never hoped to feel. Before she had finished, they were clinging to each other and weeping together.
    Kethry had said nothing—but in her eyes Tarma recognized the same unbearable loneliness that she was facing. And she was moved by something outside herself to speak.
    â€œMy friend—” Tarma startled Kethry with the phrase; their eyes met, and Kethry saw that loneliness recognized like, “—we are both Clanless; would you swear bloodoath with me?”
    â€œYes!” Kethry’s eager reply left nothing to be desired.
    Without speaking further, Tarma cut a thin, curving line like a crescent moon in her left palm; she handed the knife to Kethry, who did likewise. Tarma raised her hand to Kethry, who met it, palm to palm—
    Then came the unexpected; their joined hands flashed briefly, incandescently; too bright to look on. When their hands unjoined, there were silver scars where the cuts had been.
    Tarma looked askance at her she‘enedra— her blood sister.
    â€œNot of my doing,” Kethry said, awe in her voice.
    â€œThe Goddess’ then.” Tarma was certain of it; with the certainty came the filling of the empty void within her left by the loss of her Clan.
    â€œIn that case, I think perhaps I should give you my last secret,” Kethry replied, and pulled her sword from beneath her bed. “Hold out your hands.”
    Tarma obeyed, and Kethry laid the unsheathed sword across them.
    â€œWatch the blade,” she said, frowning in concentration.
    Writing, as fine as any scribe‘s, flared redly along the length of it. To her amazement it was in her own tongue.
    â€œIf I were holding her, it would be in my language,” Kethry said, answering Tarma’s unspoken question. “‘Woman’s Need calls me/As Woman’s Need made me/Her Need must I answer/As my maker bade me.’ My geas, the one I told you of when we first met. She’s the reason I could help you after my magics were exhausted, because she works in a peculiar way. If you were to use her, she’d add nothing to your sword skill, but she’d protect you against almost any magics. But when I have her—”
    â€œNo magic aid, but you fight like a sand-demon,” Tarma finished for her.
    â€œBut only if I am attacked first, or defending another. And last, her magic only works for women. A fellow journeyman found that out the hard way.”
    â€œAnd the price of her protection?”
    â€œWhile I have her, I cannot leave any woman in trouble unaided. In fact, she’s actually taken me miles out of my way to help someone.” Kethry looked at the sword as fondly as if it were a living thing—which, perhaps, it was. “It’s been worth it—she brought us together.”
    She paused, as though something had occurred to her. “I’m not sure how to ask this—Tarma, now that we’re she‘enedran, do I have to be Swordsworn, too?” She looked troubled. “Because if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not. I have very healthy appetites that I’d rather not lose.”
    â€œHorned Moon, no!” Tarma chuckled, her facial muscles stretching in an unaccustomed smile. It felt good. “In fact, she‘enedra, I’d rather you found a lover or two. You’re all the Clan I have now, and my only hope of having more kin.”
    â€œJust a Shin‘a’in brood mare, huh?” Kethry’s infectious grin kept any sting out of the words.
    â€œHardly,” Tarma replied, answering the smile with one of her own. “However, she‘enedra, I am going to make sure you—we—get paid for jobs like these in good, solid coin, because that’s something I think, by the look of you, you’ve been too lax about. After all, besides being horsebreeders,